


Best (Soul)Mates

by hanktalkin



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Advice, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Betrayal, Blue Eyes, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossfaction, Emotional Hurt, Fist Fights, Forced Eye Contact, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love/Hate, M/M, Nudity, Orphanage, Post-Betrayal, Self-Esteem Issues, Showers, Social Anxiety, Soldier Is Bad With People, war!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-22 00:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12469872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanktalkin/pseuds/hanktalkin
Summary: A collection of soulmate AUs. The specific AU will be in the summary of each chapter.





	1. Love is Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from [ this playlist ](https://8tracks.com/rockruff/best-soul-mates)
> 
> And ideas me and YourChickenMan were throwing around based on various tumblr text posts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not long after you’re born, the first sentence your soulmate ever says to you appears on your body. Just in case it is something common, it will disappear after they say it, so you can know for sure.

Tavish grew up hating his soulmate. It started right from the moment he stepped into a proper primary school and Mrs. Dubh just about threw him out.

“You better cover that up right this instant lad,” she demanded, pointing to the sentence scrawled across his neck. “I don’t know what sort of haver your parents put up with, but I will not have such vulgar words out and about in my classroom.”

At that, Tavish had told her that his parents were fine people, and telling him they _tolerated_ him was an insult to his family’s honor. That caused Mrs. Dubh’s face to turn bright red, escalated to a shouting match between the two of them, and ended with Tavish being sent home early.

He tried not to cry on the walk home.

That proved to be exceptionally difficult, since he was quite the crier as a child, a trait that followed him all the way into adulthood. He came home with a red eye and a snotty nose, and couldn’t hide it from Mum no matter how blind she was. (If not for the sound of his insistent squeaking, then the fact that he was back from school four hours early.) For once, she didn’t scold him, even when he told him how he’d fought with his teacher. Instead, she patted her lap and let him crawl into her arms like he was still a wee babe.

He blubbered an explanation through his sobs. It wasn’t right for Mrs. Dubh to insult his new family. (Well, _old_ family, but as far as Tavish cared they were new and too good to be true.) Mum listened quietly, stroking his hair, but waiting for him to get to the root of it all.

Finally he didn’t have anymore explanations. He sniffled quietly into the front of her shirt until he said, “Mum? Why does my soulmate hate me?”

“They don’t hate you laddie,” Mum told him. “You can’t judge a whole relationship just by the first words you happen to get.”

Tavish whimpered, but didn’t say anything.

Mum gently rubbed the spot on Tavish’s neck where she knew the soulwords to be. “Tav. Did I ever tell you how me ‘n your Da met?”

Shaking his head, Tavish let his crying slow to a small hiccup.

“My whole life, I was lucky enough to have the nice words on me, _can I help you with that, Miss?_ Nothing too fancy, or to wonder about. And you know what I gave your Da in return? _Step off, you hirplin having little dunderheed!_ ”

Tavish’s eye widened as he look up at his Mum. “You called him that?”

“Aye,” Mum chuckled. “Right to his face. Didn’t know at the time he was from one of the oldest families in Scotland. And I cursed him with that, right up until the moment we met.”

“Wow.” Tavish thought about that for a minute. “That must have been hard.”

“Ah, but he got through it.” She gently cupped Tavish’s cheek. “And you will too lad. Just remember that things don’t always start the way you think, and you just gotta keep going on until they do.”

Tavish thought he understood her. Just because his soulmate said something awful to him at first, didn’t mean that their whole relationship would be colored by that. He whispered _thanks_ to Mum, and snuggled further into her lap.

The second day of school, Tavish wore a turtleneck sweater.

* * *

Tavish wasn’t the only one Mrs. Dubh made cover up their soulwords. Alice MacAra had something particularly nasty written on her on her left arm, and Mrs. Dubh had her wear an ugly-looking armband to hide it from their classmates, lest she “corrupt” them. Alice and Tavish couldn’t take off their accessories as long as they were at school, not even in the summer when Tavish’s neck would get all sweaty.

It was constant, shameful, and Tavish grew to hate his soulmate in spite of his Mum’s advice.

On the plus side, him and Alice became good friends. Their shared hatred of Mrs. Dubh, chased them off to secret spots where they could talk about their soulwords without fear of the switch. It was nice to have something in common with another kid. Tavish had never had any friends back at the orphanage, and Alice was one of the things that made Ullapool ten times better.

Sometimes, she would take her armband off when Mrs. Dubh wasn’t looking. That’s how Tavish learned his first swearword.

Alice’s arm said _use your fucking blinker you goddamned bitch_. Actually, it was three swearwords, but _fucking_ was obviously the best. Neither Alice nor Tavish knew what a _blinker_ was, but since no once else in town reacted badly too it, it must be some sort of Secret Swear. They would whisper it all the time to each other, calling each other _blinkers_ in the back of the class and giggling. When Mrs. Dubh found out, she made them hold their noses against the blackboard and count to one hundred.

Tavish’s soulwords weren’t swears, but they were just as bad. As Mrs. Dubh said, they were _perverse_.

It was nice to have Alice, but not even her company could make him feel like less of a freak. He already had a missing eye counted against him, and the sweater he wore every day simply contributed to his social ostracization.

He hoped he’d meet his soulmate soon. Then the writing would go away, and then the two of them would laugh it off and throw stones together down at the lake.

But he never met them. Primary blended into secondary, then Alice moved away, and the world just seemed to grow more dark. It was better when Tavish had at bottle in his hand, but the drink was never enough to stave off the knowledge that he was unlovable.

Before he knew it, he was picking up his first job, and thoughts of his soulwords faded in light of the new love in his life. If no one wanted him, well that was just fine. Watching a human explode was better than any long walks on the beach as far as Tavish was concerned.

* * *

The years passed, and Tavish followed his love to America, where he found a job that was beyond what he could have ever dreamed. (It turned out that was because it bound him to a lifetime contract, but still.) RED gave him an amazing salary, one that let him move his Mum over too, and if they kept it up he’d be able to afford a nice house in no time.

He’d never worked with a team before. It was…an experience to say the least. For one, rest of them seemed just psychotic as Tavish was. He kept them at arms length anyway during basic training, but somehow still ended up in the middle of it all.

Because when the Engineer had called their Spy a _liver-bellied son of a jackal_ , the spook immediately had blushed like he was fourteen years old. It didn’t take much sleuthing to figure out those were the Spy’s soulwords, and the two had found each _here_ of all places. It went against everything Tavish believed: that a cold hearted killer could even have soulmate, let alone find him in all this…mess.

But from then on Engie and Spy stuck around each other like two moths circling the same flame. It depressed Tavish, though he pretended it didn’t.

In fact, he might have put soulwords out of his mind entirely—like he’d been doing for the past thirty years—if they hadn’t had their first battle.

It shouldn’t have been difficult; basically a dry run while the teams tested each other’s strength. Tavish felt confidence with his new weapons, and was ready to blast BLUs back into oblivion. At halfway through the battle, he’d only felt the sting of respawn. Now he’d armed a sticky trap on the intelligence and was just about to blow up some hapless BLUs when-

A majestic screech was his only warning.

A rocket blasted him in his hiding spot, sending him flying and landing in a mess of blood and his own limbs. He raised his head (only barely able to do that) to see his attacker.

The BLU Soldier sauntered toward him, confident smirk spread across his face. Tavish’s blood boiled. He’d had a taste of his own Soldier, and he was confident enough to say he didn’t like the flavor. This Soldier would be all the worse, his self-righteousness now located firmly on the other team and his license to kill boldly in hand.

He placed a boot on Tavish’s chest and grinned. Tavish hissed in pain, knowing that the Soldier was taking pleasure in his last moment of suffering. The BLU looked down at his victim and said, “I love your death, Cyclops; your death is _sweet_ to me like _love_ is sweet.”

And then he laughed.

Meanwhile, every muscle in Tavish’s body froze. No. No no. No way in hell it could be him. Please god don’t let it be him-

He didn’t get anymore begging than that, since the Soldier whipped out his shotgun and finished Tavish off with a blast to the head.

* * *

Tavish woke up in respawn shook beyond measure. That couldn’t be…of all the bloody people in the world…

He had to check.

Tavish ran around base desperately, ignoring the battle and searching _anywhere_ he could find a mirror. It took forever, but he finally found one in the lower respawn room, leaned against the wall and unused.

Tavish pulled down the collar of his turtleneck. He groaned. It was just as he had feared: the soulwords were _gone_.

Of all the people, somehow, the wheel of fate had landed on that obnoxious, jingoistic, son of a bitch. Instead of a meet cute, Tavish had been dealt a hand of blood and gore and murder on a never-ending battlefield…

And that’s what he deserved, wasn’t it?

He realized that suddenly as he paced in the lower respawn room. If he looked, really _looked_ at the man he’d become, didn’t he deserve someone like the Soldier? And then another thought occurred to him. One that twisted his face into a manic smile that the mirror reflected right back at him.

Soldier had made his life hell. And now was the perfect time to get a little payback.

* * *

Before the battle the next day, Tavish stood in front of the gates with life in his chest and a gleam in his eyes. He didn’t have a chance at the Soldier the first round, but he wasn’t in any hurry. After all, there was no rush when it came to forever.

Round two and three passed with still no opportunity. And then, that blessed fourth round rolled around.

The Soldier came up from the 2fort sewers, maybe thinking he could sneak by Sniper on the bridge, and walked right into three red stickies. His body was thrown against the wall, legs turning to paste, but still alive after the explosion. Tavish had been careful after all—didn’t want to kill him before he could get in a word in edgewise.

Tavish was on him fast, sitting on the Soldier’s chest before he’d even had a chance to realize what had happened.

The BLU moved, but stopped when he felt the blade of a sword already digging into his throat. He looked up at the Demoman on top of him. “…Dammit.”

Tavish smiled, and said they words he’d picked just for this occasion. “Hey Private Haircut,” he whispered. “I might’ve taken a bit too much off… _your head_!”

He finished the last words with a triumphant yell, and looked at Soldier’s face for the desired reaction.

He sure got it. Soldier’s eyes went from defiance to abject horror.

“Oh no…” Soldier groaned.

“Oh _yes_.”

Tavish laughed triumphantly, revealing in the defeat of the man who had been hounding him for all his life. He supposed in a way, Soldier had been getting him back for this exact moment, but he was too drunk and victorious to care.

He made good on his threat, and lopped the Soldier’s head off with one swoop.

* * *

On the third day the teams had fought against each other in a real battle, Tavish stood out on the edges of RED’s balcony and breathed in its corrosive stench. Both Snipers were dead at the moment, and he looked out over the bridge without fear to what lay beyond.

The BLU Soldier looked right back. Neither one of them moved, locked in a contest of wills to see who would attack first.

Soldier’s face had changed. Tavish could see, even with the distance and the helmet obscuring it. It was a face of mortal challenge, of a primal and ingrained need to _dominate_. Tavish was as sure of it as he was sure of the battle cry that called out in his own blood. This was a special form of competition: one of total and complete connection between two destined men.

There was the sound of a minigun whirling, and Soldier caved into the need. He shot a rocket under his feet and launched himself through the air, screaming as he did. Tavish did the same, meeting him halfway and clashing sword against shovel. Raw bloodlust pounded through the both of them, exemplified by the grins of joy on their faces.

And hell, if this is what a soulmate was like, Tavish could get used to it.


	2. Why So BLU?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has heterochromia: one eye is your natural color, while your other eye is your soulmate’s natural color. When you meet, your eyes revert to their real colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter in which Soldier mashes E and Pyro does anime.

Soldier didn’t take his helmet off often. In fact, if you were one of his fellow teammates, you wouldn’t be blamed for thinking he never took the it off at all. He certainly never removed it in front of other people, and even in the private of his own room he preferred to keep it on. A good soldier was always prepared, and Soldier was a damn good soldier.

With the fact that he didn’t remove his obtrusive headwear except for showering and sometimes to read this week’s Guns and Haircuts, it was no surprise no one saw his eyes often. Not even himself. But he knew what they looked like: his right eye a bright, electric blue, and his left an earthy brown. For the past fifty years, he’d only ever catch them in the mirror every now and again, a practiced habit that didn’t have any real thought behind it except the fact it was something you were supposed to do.

So, when he was toweling off after his first match at BLU, he almost didn’t notice they’d changed.

Then he stopped, one foot in the air, and processed what he’d just seen. A second later he was sprinting back, slamming against the cracked porcelain of the sink and getting so close to the mirror his breath left a fog on the glass.

“Sweet land of liberty…” he whispered to himself.

His eyes were blue. Both of them, the richness of his soul-eye cooled to match has natural one. Soldier squeaked.

He’d met his soulmate, and for a brief second he swung his head around the shower room, wondering where the hell they were. But then he realized how stupid that was; after all, with his helmet covering 24/7, it could have happened at any time and no one would’ve told him.

This was bad. Or good. Or _great_ maybe by the way Soldier’s heart was pounding in his ears. He knew that everyone got a soulmate, but knowing it and actually _seeing_ it were two different things. He leaned closer.

How the hell had this happened? He hadn’t met anyone. His team maybe, but they’d started basic a week ago, and he’d just seen his eyes when he’d showered yesterday… Soldier paced across the bathroom floor, the sound of his feet slapping on the tile drowned out by someone else taking their after battle shower. Could his eyes be on a delay? Or had the “meeting” not counted until now? But he had meet everyone on his team, and a battlefield wasn’t exactly a _meeting_ …

Unless it was.

Because Soldier suddenly realized he _had_ meet someone today. A lot of someones. RED Team.

He stopped dead. _Fucking RED Team_. His soulmate was a damn communist America-hating son of a bitch. But which communist America-hating son of a bitch? There were nine of them, and with growing panic, he realized that they wouldn’t notice their eyes change color either. Probably not until they got back to respawn and someone pointed it out.

How would he find them? He stopped pacing, clinging to the sink again and staring at his electric blue eyes. What color had it been again? Brown he knew, but he needed to know the precise _shade_. Oh god, was he already forgetting it? It’d been inside his skull for the majority of his life, and yet he still couldn’t picture the exact hue…

How the hell was he going to check every RED? He’d killed or been killed by every member at least once, so no way to narrow it down. Unless he could find out what each of the RED’s eye colors were, but that was just as ridiculous as walking up to RED base and asking if anyone there had found a soulmate. He flipped through a mental catalogue, trying to remember the eye color of _anyone_ , but came up with zilch, zip, nadda. Girls remembered that shit, not him. But now it was biting him in the ass, and if only he had some way to see them all again-

The occupied shower turned off. With sound in the room suddenly suctioned out, Medic opened the shower curtain, tying a towel around his waist and whistling to himself.

“MEDIC,” Soldier roared.

The startled doctor didn’t even get a chance to look up before Soldier was grabbing both sides of his face in the least gentle caress imaginable.

“Ahg!” he yelled, his mouth slightly paralyzed by the meaty soldier-hands on either side of it. He glanced down at Soldier’s towel-less. “What in god’s name do you think you’re doing?”

Soldier looked down at himself, momentarily distracted from his current task. “This is how god made me, nurse! If you can’t handle raw physical manhood then get the hell out of the army!”

“Get off of me you _dummkopf_!”

Soldier didn’t bother to reply. He was too busy looking deep into Medic’s eyes, the optics for once not hidden by their tiny circular spectacles. It only took another second, and then Soldier dropped him like a sack of potatoes.

Medic swore at Soldier in German, but Soldier didn’t pay the doctor any mind. His eyes were both blue after all, like a bluejay’s feathers. It was to be expected anyway; someone Medic’s age was bound to have found his soulmate by now.

“If you do that again I-”

“I can’t stay and talk, doc,” Soldier called as he scooped his helmet. “I got eyes to check.”

Medic stared after him, clutching his towel and already resigning himself to exhausted disdain. “Fine. Get out of my sight. But if you are going throughout the base please _at least_ put on some pants.”

Soldier looked at the inside of his helmet for a moment. “No promises doc.” And with that he was out the door.

* * *

Soldier wasn’t a bright man, not buy a long shot, but even he was able to work out the best way to find his soulmate.

He combed the base for every single BLU mercenary. After all, they were exact doubles of RED team, right down to the natural eye color. (And hell, maybe even the soul-eye too, but that wasn’t Soldier’s concern right now.) Heavy was the same as Medic, a neat pair of robin’s egg blue. Scout’s right was a deep navy, a bright contrast against the forest green in his left. Sniper’s—after Soldier had ambushed him and gotten the aviator’s off—were sky colored, something Soldier didn’t get to look at long when the Australian punched him in retribution.

Spy’s were difficult; the man slipping away like someone had tipped him off a mad American was running around the base accosting people. It took some time, but Soldier finally figured that if he the frog to insult him long enough, he could see the faint glimmer of his eyes. They were both an ocean blue, but the left one still had a quarter of it burned red. Spy still hadn’t met his soulmate then, but his soulmate’s natural eyes just so happened to be the same as his.

Then there was Pyro. Soldier knew they’d be the hardest, but he had to check everyone on the team at some point if he was going to find his suspects.

On the way to where he thought the firebug might be, he ran into Engie.

“Engie!” he demanded, not even bothering to fork up an explanation. “Hold still!”

“What in tarnation-!”

Soldier grappled him, the element of surprise putting him one-over on the shorter mercenary.

“Get the hell off me!”

It didn’t get him far. He’d tried to take the goggles off before the helmet, and by the time he’d realized his mistake, Engie had elbowed him in the gut. The wind went out of him entirely, and he was easily shoved against the wall.

“Now you’re going to tell me what the _hell_ that was about, or you’re in for a world of trouble boy.” Engie ground his teeth together. Soldier had forgotten the Texan had one hell of a temper.

Soldier wheezed, pushing himself off the wall. “Checking…your eyes…soulmate…”

Engie’s face didn’t change, but eventually he let out an exasperated sigh. “Well why didn’t just say that?”

Soldier thought hard about that for a minute.

When it became apparent that Soldier thinking hard was going to take a long time, Engie said, “y’know, people would be a lot more forthcoming if you just asked ‘em these sorts of things instead of jumping them in the middle of the boiler room.”

Engie removed his helmet and goggles, and Soldier groaned in disappointment. Right cyan, left hazel. Both maddeningly unhelpful.

“What is it with the damn team and their fucking eyes?” Soldier roared. “Is this a BLU team or blue team?”

Engie nodded like that sentence made the most sense in the world. Sometimes that was just how you were supposed to respond to Soldier. “I don’t know what to tell you Sol. Why’re you checking eyes anyway?”

Soldier made a frustrated noise, but pushed his helmet up just enough so Engie could see the electric blue. “Damn…soulmate crap. They switched and I missed it. I need to find who on RED team-”

“Hold up! Slow down partner. Are telling me your soulmate is a _RED_?”

Soldier hesitated. He hadn’t given much thought to what that might mean, to busy trying to find them in the first place. Sure they were a communist, but they were still Soldier’s soulmate. He _had_ to reach them.

“Engie.” Soldier shuffled his feet. “Hypothetically speaking, how bad would that be?”

Engie frowned. “I…I don’t know Sol. But just be careful alright? And don’t go spreading it around to the rest of the team. Some folks might not be as…understanding.”

“Hiim hunderdaning!” Pyro said, suddenly appearing from the bowels of the boiler room.

“Pyro!” Soldier yelled immediately, preparing for another tackle.

“ _Soldier_ ,” Engie warned him. Soldier looked up and saw the dark threat Engie was giving him with those mismatched eyes.

“Um, right,” Soldier said, remembering what the hardhat had told him not a minute ago. He pushed himself out of his tackle stance. “Pyro. What. Color eyes…do you have?”

“Huh?” Pyro said, tilting their head. But then they nodded in understanding. “Hoo, hii hatcha! Hi hurta hoo hurg heee, hand hi hwole hun hiss hown.”

Engie and Soldier exchanged a look.

Pyro realized this wouldn’t get them anywhere. They ran back into the dark, and returned a moment later holding a handful of crayons and some paper.

Soldier leaned over to Engie. “Does Pyro…live down here?”

Engie shrugged, just as clueless. It didn’t mater, because all the sudden Pyro was lying on their stomach and scratching out a drawing of a human face. Feeling excitement rise in his chest, Soldier walked around behind the pyromaniac so he could see the drawing better. The thumping in his chest threatened to shake the whole room when he saw Pyro reach for the brown crayon, but quieted just as quickly when they began to fill in the soul-eye. It all but stilled when the natural eye was turned a lime-green.

Pyro forgot what they were doing halfway through the drawing. They completed the rest of the face, and then handed it to Engie proudly.

“Hare! Hudda hoo hink?”

“It’s…real nice Py.” Engie smiled wryly.

Soldier thought the eyes looked too big in proportion to the face, but didn’t say it. He was not art critic, and besides, he had places to be.

There was one person left to check after all.

* * *

Demoman was sleeping in the rec room armchair when Soldier walked up to him. If only he slept with his eye open—that would save Soldier one extra step.

“Demoman,” Soldier said, poking Demo in the cheek. “Wake up.”

A knot coiled in Soldier’s stomach. If Demo didn’t have it then…well there really must be some mistake. Or his eye was on a delay or…something awful like that. It happened sometimes. You’d read all about those tragic stories in the paper, but never thought it’d happen to you.

Demo blinked away his hangover, sitting up in the armchair. “Huzzut? Wuddaya want?”

Soldier couldn’t say anything back. His throat was closed up, the brown of Demo’s remaining eye so maddeningly familiar. Beautiful. Earthy. _Soldier’s_.

Except not. Soldier remembered what Engie said about having a soulmate on RED, and felt guilt creep up on the edges of his skin. Why couldn’t he have gotten this Demoman instead? Life would be so much easier. Plus, there was the fact that RED Demo would be missing his eye too…

“Oh no,” Soldier muttered aloud.

The RED probably didn’t even know Soldier was his soulmate. Not without his soul-eye telling him they’d found each other. That is, _if_ the Demoman was the right one. Without Demo’s other eye there was no way to double-check, no fallback plan.

But…

Dammit, he had to try anyway.

“What the bloody hell did you wake me up for?” Demo demanded, still shaking off the bits of sleep.

Soldier had almost forgotten about him. He looked down and barkws, “sleeping on the job is shameful, private! I want twenty laps around this base as proof you’re not a meat-sack!”

He didn’t check to make sure Demo complied, turning on his heel and leaving the rec room. If he wanted to make sure of his suspicions, he needed to plan fast.

* * *

The day of the next battle left Soldier light-headed and a little giddy. It wasn’t much of a plan, and relied heavily on luck, but it was the only thing he could think of that might get some answers.

RED won the midfight easily enough, but couldn’t get into Granary’s second point for the life of them. Usually Soldier would be more intuned with the battle, but the thought of meeting his soulmate left butterflies in his stomach. He told the butterflies to stop flapping around while he was trying to concentrate, but they didn’t listen.

Crouching in his hiding spot near the vents, he blasted several unsuspecting REDs to gibs. None of them were the Demoman, and he was becoming increasingly nervous the scot would never come this way. Maybe that was a sign. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be, the universe telling him it’d screwed up and forgot to give him a soulmate-

Demo walked through the door.

In a heartbeat, Soldier dropped his weapons, throwing his plan into action. Then he brought out one of his best moves: the patented Soldier-tackle.

“HUTAH,” he screeched, launching himself at the unsuspecting Demoman and slamming into him full force. He pulled the sticky launcher from his foe’s grasp, pinning the struggling RED to the wall. “RED! What color is this eye!” He pointed at the eyepatch.

“Wha the- get the bloody hell off of me!”

Soldier was getting really tired of everyone yelling that at him. “Fine! But you have to tell me what color your soul-eye is first!”

“I don’t have a bloody soul-eye!” Demo snarled. “It’s gone, alright?”

The butterflies in Soldier’s stomach were bats now, drinking his blood from the inside and leaving him a pathetic raisin. “O-okay! But what was it before? You have to know…”

“I don’t fucking remember!” Demo said, still trying to shove Soldier off him. “I was just a damn kid, and it was years ago!”

Desperation cracked the edges of Soldier’s body. He ripped off his helmet, throwing it to the side. “Was it this color?” he demanded, pointing at his painfully exposed eyes. “P-please. If you tell me you can do whatever you want but please just…was it this color?”

And for the first time, Demo stopped struggling. He looked Soldier directly in the eyes, a form of human contact that Soldier usually avoided at all cost. But at least Demo didn’t look quite so murderous anymore, almost like he was actually _seeing_ Soldier.

“It was years ago,” Demo repeated, averting his gaze. Soldier’s stomach sank, but then suddenly Demo was glaring back at him once again. “But let me get this straight. You thought I might be your soulmate, and you thought it would be a good idea to _hold me prisoner?_ ”

“I…oh.” It did sound like a bad plan when you said it like that. “I’m…sorry. I’m not very good with people.”

“Yeah. I noticed.”

When Demo didn’t say anymore, Soldier backed up. The RED went for his sticky launcher immediately, aiming it at his opponent. But Soldier didn’t react, too crushed to bother even raising his head. Demo hesitated, and then lowered his gun.

“You know,” he began, then sighed as though wondering if he was really doing this. “It, er, might have been blue.”

Soldier lifted his head, his eyebrows perked in hopeful curiosity.

“I’m not saying it was,” Demo backpedaled, putting up his hands. “Just…it could have been.”

A small smile found itself at the corner of Soldier’s mouth. Even if it only could have been, that was better than nothing, and his spirits rose just a tad.

“And er…” Demo stepped in closer, dropping his voice and looking around. As though their shouting match wouldn’t’ve already brought any passersby to their location. “There’s a bar. Just outside of town. Called _The Musty Duckling_.”

“That’s a bad name for a bar,” Soldier pointed out simply.

Demo rolled his eye. “And you can find me there sometime. Aye?”

Realization crossed Soldier’s mind. “Oh! A-Affirmative!”

Demo allowed a smile back. But then he said, “now if you’ll excuse me BLU, I have a point to go capture.”

The last thing Soldier saw before he was blasted to smithereens was Demo’s eye winking at him. It was such a nice color. Rich. Earthy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere, deep in the bowels of merasmus’s lair, monoculus turns brown.


	3. Only You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On your body, you have three Names. One of your greatest ally, one of your worst enemy, and one of your true love.

Jane only had one.

The nuns would look him over every few years, seeing if he had miraculously grown two more Names on his pudgy little body, but he never did, the name _Tavish_ sitting quiet and forlorn just below his ribs. The script was soft and flowery, but all it’s beauty wouldn’t chance the fact that it was alone.

It was a strange situation, but then again, Jane was a strange boy. A visiting speaker to the convent once handed Jane a pamphlet on people with “unusual” Names. Jane had tried to eat it, and Sister Annabeth had to pull it from his greedy little teeth.

It took a long time to get something was wrong. Sure the nuns told him he was “special” all the time, but they told him he was special when he didn’t read as fast as the other kids too, so he didn’t put much stock in it. Plus, they told Noah he was special for eating his own boogers, so the special box was already kind of crowded.

It wasn’t until he was eleven he really _got_ it. The mystery of having the Names. The hunt to find the three most important people in your life. Daytime television shows about when people’s Names didn’t line up.

The last of those things wasn’t allowed in the convent, but when the nuns took them into town, sometimes Jane could watch it through the barbershop window. He wondered if he’d be hired for a TV show one day, since they seemed to need a lot of people with special Name situations.

Once he understood the gravity of how bizarre he was, it changed him. He’d stay awake at night, quietly reading _Tavish_ , _Tavish_ , _Tavish_ , over and over again. He could just make out the scrawl when the moon was out, but when the cycles faded and he was left in the dark with the other sleeping boys, he recited the Name by memory.

Tavish wasn’t even a real name. It must be fake, or a codename of some sort. Jane couldn’t imagine being allies with someone called Tavish, or being the true love of one either. It must be his moral enemy then. Luke had told him one time at lunch that maybe Tavish was a super villain’s name since it couldn’t be a real one. At the time, Jane called him an idiot and made him eat dirt for it, but later he realized it wasn’t such a bad idea. Jane wouldn’t mind having a worst enemy if it meant he got to be a super hero.

The only thing that would suck would be not having anyone else.

Even if the Name _wasn’t_ a worst enemy, Jane’s prospects were bleak. If he had a true love, then he would have no one to depend on. If he had an ally, then no one would ever love him. No matter how you looked at, Jane’s future was bleak.

So he prepared himself. He was already a “rough and tumble” sort of kid as the nuns liked to call him when they were being nice. (And “possessed by the devil” when they weren’t.) The next step was getting ready for the real world: to look out for his own, never needing nobody for very long. It carried him far, so far that even the devil himself had to run just to keep up.

* * *

“S-so, ‘m I gunna have to keep calling you ‘Soldier’ this *hic*, this whole time?” the RED Demoman slurred. “Or y’gunna do me the honor ‘a telling me your name?”

Jane fumbled with the label on his beer, each time he moved creaking the foldout table that was his excuse for a kitchen table. “It’s against company policy to share names,” he evaded.

“Ah, but it’s also against company policy to share a drink with a RED. So don’t you think we might as well have the whole cake as long as we’ve taken a slice?” The RED grinned. “Here, I’ll go first. Name’s Tavish DeGroot, pleased to make your acquaintance.” Tavish put forward a friendly hand.

Jane just stared. At the hand, then up at Tavish, then back at the hand.

He’d said it. Sure he’d pronounced it _Tah-vish_ instead of _Tay-vish_ , but who else could have that goddamned name? Who else had Jane ever felt an immediate connection with besides this drunken mercenary?

Jane was still looking at the hand.

“Something wrong lad?” Tavish asked, slowly withdrawing it.

Jane glanced up, noticing the growing question on his friend’s face. “I…” His mouth felt so awfully dry. “ _Tavish_. I…have your Name.”

“Oh,” Tavish said, and it certainly wasn’t an _oh_ of delight. But that couldn’t be right, there was no way this man could be Jane’s worst enemy.

“Why oh?” Jane demanded, standing and making the foldout tremble. “You have to have at least _one_ Name left, right?” He tried not to sound too pathetic and failed.

“Well, I mean I do…” Tavish rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at the Soldier. “But…it’s a girl.”

“Oh,” Jane echoed, something in him cold and quashed. After all this time…he’d found Tavish, and there was even enough of him to go around. Jane didn’t sit down, instead looking at the bits of beer label he’d picked off with his nails. Tavish didn’t have his name, unless… “W-wait. Just a second. Are you sure it’s a girl, or do you just mean that it’s a girl’s name?”

Tavish blinked, the scars of embarrassment still clear on his face. “What do y’mean by that?”

Jane took a labored breath before saying, “my name is Jane.”

“Jane,” Tavish repeated, hissing air like the name had gotten stuck in his throat. Looking up, his eye held a gleam of disbelief in it. “Jane…I…you’re Jane?”

Jane nodded, hoping Tavish’s reaction meant what he thought it meant. He didn’t have to wonder long, Tavish jumping up and knocking the table so hard the plastic fruit almost went flying.

“Jane!” he roared, closing the short distance between the two men. He wrapped Jane into a bear hug, an embrace that would have squished a lesser man, or at least picked him off the ground.

To Jane, it just felt like a miracle. He returned it immediately, despite his instincts telling him to run. This man had his _Name_. There was no running from that.

Tavish let him go with an uproarious laugh. “Of all the bloody people! But here you, and here I am, and isn’t this best?”

The words came out too fast, but Jane just nodded along happily. He was content to just let Tavish talk, spilling out every detail and scrutinizing every minute that led up to here.

“To think,” Tavish said after a while of chatter, “to start with a fight in the middle of a weapons expo and end with finding my best mate.”

“Best mate? Is that what you call greatest ally over in wherever the hell not-America you come from?” Jane asked, a smile adding to the jab.

“It’s _Scotland_ you daft prick,” Tavish laughed, punching him on the. “I already told you.”

And it just felt so damn natural. Maybe Jane would have noticed it in the moment they’d both crashed into that hand-held catapult if he’d been looking, but now it was so obvious he could have slapped himself. The punch to his shoulder would have started a fight with anyone else, but from Tavish…

Everything felt good with Tavish. Even things Jane didn’t consider himself the best at, like talking, relaxing, or close physical contact. Lying on the couch, Tavish’s head resting on his stomach, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. With his greatest ally there, he felt like he could do anything. Like he could _say_ anything. Like he could out any secret, and the Demoman would always be there to listen.

* * *

The Administrator’s men left Jane’s apartment exactly as they had found it. No need to break anything, to smash his feeble plastic chairs to prove a point. The dishes and few glasses were left pristine, not cracked in a fit of intimidation.

Jane did all that himself.

He threw everything he owned at the wall, each successive smash denting it further as cups and crates hit the same spot over and over again. Jane screamed at the top of his lungs, overturning the foldout and tipping the couch, howling like a lion with a thorn in its paw.

He screamed in unimaginable pain. In unimaginable betrayal.

There was only so long Jane could do that to himself before he collapsed. His fists were red from where he’d punched the wall, and his eyes stung from tears he didn’t remember shedding. He leaned into the couch, having almost exhausted himself into the grave.

The word Tavish had called him swam around his mind. It hurt worse than the betrayal. The fact that he had promised never to tell was one thing; that lie could be chalked up to the changing of a person, a slide to the dark side that RED must have pulled him down. But the word…

It meant Tavish had never cared. All those nights of drinking where Jane told him about the half-remembered days in the convent, the time after that when he’d gone to war, Tavish had never thought anything less of him. He had promised Jane that he was still a Soldier, no matter what the United States Army said. And Jane had believed him.

Oh how Tavish must have been laughing at him the entire time. He’d greased it with soft platitudes and promises that he still thought Jane to be great…

All lies.

Jane had swallowed every one, hook line and sinker. It burned worse then the pain in his eyes or his knuckles, and it wasn’t something he could get rid of no matter how hard he punished himself. To think, the man that was supposed to be by his side through thick and thin had ended up driving the final knife in Jane’s back.

Years ago, when Jane thought about having an archnemesis, he convinced himself it wouldn’t be so bad. That the worst part would not be having any friends.

But oh how wrong he was. Because this wasn’t like the way a super hero and his villain fought, with wild banter and joyous ass-kickings; this was personal. A hurt so deep, Jane finally _got_ why everyone was so afraid of the third name on their person.

But Jane didn’t have three. He had one. An enemy who hurt him in a way that only a former-friend could.

* * *

Death had never tasted sweeter. Not in Germany, not at BLU, and not in any of the miscellaneous work that crowded in between the two. The RED Demoman’s death was the only thing that made Jane truly feel _alive_.

That throat tearing vengeance. That blood-splattering satisfaction every time Jane, hit the traitor with a rocket. Pure unadulterated fury when he got through the sword’s defenses and bashed that fucking face in. Jane was a simmering pot of self-destructive carnage, and no one was bothering to stop him.

The sight of Tavish only made the stew threaten to boil over. The man was just as angry as Jane, and the raw absolute indignation of that scalded like hot magma. What did Tavish have to be angry about? What could he feel that even _begin_ to compare to what he’d done to Jane? It only made Jane hate him more, the killing becoming so easy.

At the end of it all, Jane’s righteousness won him through. A crate arrived from MannCo, a pair of new boots that shined with undaunted polish. _Seventy-five less blast damage. Miracles of technology. Magic._ All words that scrolled by on the little piece of paper that came in the box, folding them into the dark recesses of Jane’s mind where they meant nothing.

It didn’t stop. It never stopped. The only thing that made Jane remotely okay was killing Tavish, and even that began to feel dunking his head into a bath that just got colder every time.

It was all dull and hallow. The gunboats hurt his feet.

Why did Tavish still look at him like that? What right did he have to be hurt? Sometimes he screamed _traitor_ at Jane like that meant something, like _he_ hadn’t started it all. Did he expect Jane not to find out he’d never cared? Or maybe he thought he could say that word and Jane wouldn’t feel this horrible, aching nothingness that had replaced his best friend.

The gunboats hurt his feet. He kept wearing them.

Jane would find himself outside the field of battle sometimes, wandering in the desert beyond respawn’s range. It was stupid, considering the last time he’d disobeyed company policy he’d almost been indifferently murdered.

But…maybe that’s just what he was looking for.

Anything could happen to him out here. A broken ankle could mean dehydration, as slip down a ravine and he’d freeze in the night. Then he’d be gone, out of the pain in his shoes and the worse pain that burned just below his ribcage.

There was a shack not to far from the map edge. He’d find himself at it often, the lean-to just enough shelter from the cold wind. He’d sit, staring at the opposite wall for hours, knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep if he went back to base and that he’d be just as exhausted in the morning.

It was a habit now. Here was his fortress of solitude.

But it only took once for it to come crashing down.

The Demoman had trailed him to his sanctuary out suspicion. In a few blight words, he had demanded that Jane tell him what he was doing, and admit he was up to no good. Jane had screamed right back that, telling that it was none of his business, and Jane owed nothing to such traitorous scum.

It escalated naturally after that, words becoming blows, and sending Jane into the side of the shack’s frail walls. They didn’t remember how to have a conversation that didn’t involve violence.

“You.” Tavish’s fist cracked into the side of Jane’s cheek. “Don’t. Get.” He raised his arm for another blow. “To. Call. Me.” Each word smashing the feeble cartilage of Jane’s face. “A. _Traitor_!”

Jane finally managed to get a punch in. Using the momentary distraction, he charged with his shoulder, sending them both to the ground.

“Call a spade a spade,” Jane spat back, now returning the favor of pounding Tavish’s face.

“Oh yeah? _LOOK IN THE BLOODY MIRROR YOU BASTARD!_ ” Tavish screamed in reply. Jane didn’t get much time on top, Tavish rolling them over harshly like this was just another bar brawl. “ _I TRUSTED YOU. YOU WERE MY BEST MATE YOU AND YOU STARTED ALL OF THIS._ ”

So many words flowing between them. And it hurt worse than the insults they slung at each other when they killed, since these were all _true_. Jane didn’t believe half the things that came out of his mouth, but _these_ got to the core of it all.

“I WOULD NEVER HAVE STARTED IT IF YOU HANDN’T CALLED ME WHAT YOU DID.” The bitter word didn’t manage to make it past Jane’s lips, even wet as they were with rage. That was the chain pulled on the bottom of the sink, the ferocity with which he fought the Demoman increased tenfold.

Tavish seemed to hesitate above him. It didn’t stop Jane. They were beyond words, and he wanted to finish this once and for all. He didn’t want to like killing Tavish anymore. He didn’t want anything.

And no mater how this battle ended, it would be over either way.

Tavish’s hands closed around his throat. He tried to peel them off, clawing at the strong fingers that he’d once longed to have squeeze his shoulder. Looking up at the face that had once been the only bright spot in this whole war.

“Don’t try to blame this on me!” Tavish roared. “Whatever lies you’ve been telling yourself, I don’t want to hear them.”

He picked up Jane by the neck and slammed him back down. All at once, with the abrupt stun to the back of his head, Jane felt the fight leave him. It was a realization, suddenly, to know how this fight was going to end. And he was okay with that. Poetic, that in the end his worst enemy had won one final time.

“You were supposed to be my friend!” Tavish said, still screaming. “You were my _only_ friend, the only person whoever meant anything!”

As the dark began to creep at Jane’s vision, he managed a weak chuckle. “Funny. I thought those same things about you.”

The hands loosened around Jane’s throat, just a tad. He breathed slightly, surprised at the hesitation.

“Why?” Tavish demanded above him, and for once Jane noticed there were tears in his eye. “Why’d you do it then? Why’d you take the deal?”

“Because you…” Jane wheezed. “Because you called me…” He couldn’t say it, though not from the lack of oxygen.

Tavish’s hands were gone from his neck, but the Demoman leaned over his chest that much harder. “What?” he begged. “W-what did I say th-that made you hate me so fucking much?”

A tear landed on Jane’s cheek. He realized he’d never seen Tavish this close in a long time, in a way that he could see every crease in his skin, every faded scar along his cheek.

Jane still felt like hands were around his throat. “ _Civilian_ ,” he repeated, the fucking words getting through him only once.

He just wanted to die now. He’d been so close. He didn’t want to come back after giving up.

Tavish just stared blankly back. “What?”

“I’m not saying it again,” Jane hissed.

But Tavish didn’t try to strangle him again. Instead he looked lost, hurt. Everything Jane had felt, but this time he wasn’t angry to see it on the Demoman’s face. This time, it looked real.

“But I never…” Tavish began.

And the possibility made Jane’s heart still. That wasn’t possible. Tavish had lied so many times before, but why would he lie now? Why wasn’t he killing Jane just like his worst enemy was supposed to do?

The hesitation must have shown in his eyes.

“Jane I never,” Tavish said more firmly. And oh god, did Jane dare to believe him? They’d gone to far, there was no admitting they might have made a mistake. But there was no going forward either, not when Tavish wouldn’t kill him just to finish the job.

And he’d said Jane’s Name.

Something in the way his voice lilted just so, the warmness of his accent and the way he pronounced the _a_ , it made Jane doubt it just for a moment.

“You’re lying,” Jane mumbled. “Everything, this whole friendship was a lie. You were never my ally.”

“I wanted to be,” Tavish whimpered, his hands clutching the front of Jane’s shirt instead of his neck. His face was a fog of hurt, scrunched in pain as even more tears flowed down his face. “I wanted you so badly. But not like this.”

His head hung in defeat.

Jane knew he could push him off right now and the Demo would offer no resistance. They were outside of respawn, it would only take a few minutes to finish him.

But Jane didn’t. He sat up, Tavish sliding off him. But not completely, their bodies so close from their brutal battle the line between fighting and holding seemed to blur. Jane’s back pressed against the shack wall now, Tavish hunkered over with arms wrapped around. The Name on Jane’s skin itched.

He didn’t know how to believe him. But they’d stopped fighting, and maybe that was close enough.

If the transition between killing and embracing was faded, then movement to Tavish’s lips on his own was nonexistent. Jane didn’t remember it happening, just knew that scent of desert sand was up against him and feeling so good. The sharp prick of Tavish’s beard scratched against his own stubble, and he melted as tears pricked his eyes.

It lasted a breath. Then longer. Then it couldn’t be denied that Jane was kissing him back. It curled something primal in his stomach, a warm serpent that burned away the pain with scales of fire. The Name on his skin threatened to sear right through him.

They pulled apart, breathing heavily in the space left between them. Jane gasped even harder than Tavish, air still struggling through his bruised windpipe. They soaked in the warmth they’d made together, neither one willing to admit it was relief.

“How…” Jane gargled, his voice broken. He wasn’t looking at Tavish, their faces resting cheek to cheek. “How did this happen?”

Tavish laughed. It sounded good, even as frail as it was. “I have no idea.”

“But this whole time…you only had one Name left. You must have known we were enemies from the beginning.”

Pulling back, Tavish straightened just enough that Jane could see the wry smile on his lips. “Ah well. I may have…fibbed that just a bit.”

Jane just blinked, not understanding. The only thing he knew with certainty anymore was that Tavish’s body was warm against his while the desert turned to ice outside.

Tavish grew uncomfortable under Jane’s gaze, and finally admitted in a sigh, “I don’t have three Names. I only have one.”

“Only…one?” Jane’s mouth was dry.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Tavish looked away in embarrassment. Or maybe shame. “It’s weird, I know. And it’s not something you just go around telling people so I just…never bothered to correct you.”

Jane’s beliefs had been tested today, every last one of them. But this one was so easy. Because everyone wants to believe they’re not alone.

“Tavish,” Jane’s voice cracked. And it had been so long since he’d said that Name it physically hurt. “I only have you.”

Tavish’s brow furrowed, just for a second. More disbelief, and Jane knew what he wanted to do. The Soldier shuffled, moving his and Tavish’s weight until he could pull up the edge of his shirt.

“I only have you too,” he continued, revealing the small script on his chest. “One name, for both of us.”

The laugh that bubbled out of Tavish’s mouth was the beautiful thing Jane had ever heard. He would have started to cry tears weren’t leaking from him already. Tavish’s hand came up to the side of his neck.

“We really are a couple of idiots, aren’t we?” the Demoman smiled through the tears in his eye.

“Yeah,” Jane agreed. A moment of silence passed while Jane reflected on how much life had changed in only an hour. “So…we’re each other’s true loves, huh? Took a lot of trial and elimination. But I think maybe…I always wanted it to be that way.”

“Aye. Me too.” But then Tavish paused. “Unless…” He looked across at Jane again. “If…I only have you, and you only have me, then maybe there wasn’t any trial and elimination at all.”

“What do you mean?” Jane blinked.

“Well, we’ve been allies. We’ve been enemies. And yet we still loved each other through it all.” The excitement in Tavish’s voice rose the more he explained it. “Don’t you see? You’re only on me once because _you’re all three_.”

An _oh_ caught in Jane’s lungs. That was impossible and yet…

They’d somehow made sense of it all. This bastard who’d waltzed into his life so suddenly had managed to be the most important person in every single way. Only one Name, because there was only one man in the world for Jane.

“Oh,” Jane said. Fresh tears fell down his face, and he leaned up to kiss Tavish again.


End file.
